vendredi 7 décembre 2012

ExcentrykeMuse - [Enchantment Series -13] A Rose by Any Other Name

Notes: Based off of the amazing
ficlet in "If Wishes Were Thestrals" by Kamerreon. Used
with her permission.

Summary: She did not have a
name. Not yet. One had to be given to her. But once, not too long
ago, she had been Harry Potter . . .

A Rose By Any Other
Name

Part of the Enchantment
Series

She did not have a name. Not yet. One
had not been given to her.

As the young woman who had once been
Harry Potter awoke, she thought of all the ways her life had changed.
Snape's proposition, her escape, her bowing, chained before the Dark
Lord . . . Voldemort . . . Lord Slytherin . . .

He had called her his Lady Slytherin.
She shut her eyes, nameless, friendless and parentless as she was.

She had been chained, she had
exchanged the prophecy for protection and then had been transformed
into what she was now . . . what she would always be.

Then there had been Voldemort's
declaration, his soft kiss, and now her she slept in what appeared to
be his bed, in transfigured clothes that were not suitable for
ladies. Well, Ginny had worn something similar once . . . but that
was a lifetime ago.

A gentle knock sounded at the door and
she—whoever she was—got up slowly and brushed her long hair out
of her face. "One moment," she called, not wanting whoever
was on the other side of the door to see her in bed. She had showed
enough weakness, and though she was tired, so tired, she still had
her pride.

Walking out of the main bedchamber,
she came into the anteroom and headed to the door. Straightening her
shirt that now fit her but still felt strange over her chest, she
opened the door to see Snape on the other side.

"Professor," she greeted
with a weary smile. She held out the door. "How long have I
slept?"

"Three or four hours," he
answered curtly. It was his way. "I hope I did not wake you."

"No. I was just thinking." A
piece of long, curling, black hair fell into her eyes and she tucked
in behind one ear. "I realized I don't have a name, not anymore.
Harry Potter is gone."

"Indeed," Snape agreed,
taking a seat on one of the couches as she slumped across from him.
He had seen her in much worse shape and she was so exhausted . . .

"Perhaps," Snape began,
looking at her hesitantly. "You might consider honoring your
mother by taking the name of a flower. I remember her once mentioning
her love for a particular one . . ." His voice trailed off
suggestively and whoever-she-was looked at him sharply.

"You knew my mother?" She
had suspected as much, but had never had much confirmation.

"Yes," Snape carefully
confirmed. "We were friends before Hogwarts."

She hummed. "The flower?"

"Ivy," Snape answered, a
hint of wistfulness in his voice. "She said she liked watching
it crawl up the sides of buildings, never giving up, and so
beautiful."

"The Holly and the ivy, when
they are both full grown," she quoted, thinking over the
name. "Ivy Potter." She hesitated, thinking back to
Voldemort. "Would it pass as a pureblood name?"

She pondered it for a moment. "Ivy
Hadriana Potter." It was no more than a whisper. "I believe
it will suit."

"Our Lord will be happy to hear
it," Snape agreed. "I was sent to see if you required
dinner, Lady Ivy."

The form of address startled her, but
she let it pass. "Yes, perhaps," she agreed.

"Then our Lord shall join you
within the next half hour," Snape stated before sweeping to her
feet. At Ivy's uncomfortable expression he leaned down and squeezed
her shoulder. "I promised he would keep you safe, and he gave
his wizard's oath."

Ivy nodded carefully. "He wants
to marry me," she confessed.

"It would secure the vow,"
Snape answered, his face a careful mask. "Our Lord swore to take
care of you."

"Yes," Ivy answered
absently, not looking at him. "Yes, I suppose he did."

"You no longer must carry any
burden. He will carry it for you."

Her shoulders slumped and she didn't
answer. Her mind was too tired after the months and months of torture
at the hands of the Order. Ivy was too tired to even hate them.

She didn't realize that Snape had left
or that she had fallen asleep until she woke up, cradled in strong
arms. Ivy looked up to see Tom Riddle's face and let herself fall
back into slumber.

The next time she awoke she was curled
in his arms, wearing the same torn jeans and t-shirt she had earlier
that day. His chest was bare and she pressed her hand carefully
against it, wondering at the beating heart beneath her fingers. He
was real. He was human.

Then she was awakened when she was
lifted carefully into strong arms, her back pressed against a now
clothed chest, and a hand carefully feeding her warm chicken soup,
the type of soup that Ivy used to imagine her mother making for her.
. . if she had ever had a mother.

"Ivy Hadriana is a beautiful
name," Voldemort finally remarked.

"I wonder what my mother would
have named me," she murmured in response between spoons of soup.

"Tom," she murmured, turning
to look at him. She hadn't realized her eyes had closed as his lips
brushed hers for the first time.

Every day Ivy got a little bit
stronger, and every night she lay in Tom's arms. She was certain it
was not at all—well, that it was rather singular, but she felt safe
in his arms. His vow held strong, and he would never harm her.

When, after two months, Narcissa
Malfoy came to her door, Ivy was surprised. She was wearing simple
house robes that had appeared on one side of the closet sometime
during the first week. There were finer robes, but Ivy rarely left
her rooms except with either Tom or Snape, and then only to visit the
library. She took all of her meals in their rooms—hers and Tom's.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" she
questioned, her voice firm and strong.

"Lady Ivy." Narcissa sank
into a full curtsy and stayed there until, after several awkward
moment,s Ivy murmured, "Please, rise."

"Thank you, my lady,"
Narcissa responded. Her eyes roamed over Ivy's frame. "Our Lord
wishes for you to receive some lessons on comportment."

Of course he did, Ivy thought. He also
hadn't told her. It was the same with the clothes and jewelry that
appeared on the dresser, along with the combs that house elves used
to place her hair up. She even had her own personal house elf, a
sweet creature named Minky.

At first she and Narcissa only had
tea, and Ivy was instructed how to sit, how to hold out her hand, how
to pour a proper cup.

It was less than a week later, that
Ivy greeted Tom in slightly less casual robes although her hair hung
loose and free, with a tea set steaming and prepared. He looked
pleased as she silently offered him his seat before making up his cup
as he required.

He took a sip and smiled.

"You are a treasure, Ivy,"
he complimented, and she couldn't help but smile at this small
accomplishment. Tom wanted nothing from her. He did not hurt her. He
simply took pleasure in the small niceties she would give and offered
her quiet affection in this place, which had somehow become her home.

"How goes the war?" she
asked carefully, uncertain if she would upset him.

"Well," he responded as he
set his cup within its saucer, looking at her in inquiry, as if he
wanted to know if she wished for more of an explanation.

She inclined her head.

"The Ministry is within our
control," he answered. "There are, of course, renegades."

"Potterwatch?" she asked
carefully, and he nodded.

"They—" she paused, and
swallowed, knowing she had already made her decision. "They
offer the new password at the end of each program. They're names of
Order members."

Tom nodded sagely and smiled at her.
"Thank you, Ivy."

They returned to their tea in silence.

It was a fortnight after that that Tom
made careful love to her in the darkness. "But—" Ivy
began to protest, thinking of her lessons with Narcissa, before she
was cut off with a kiss.

"You'll break my heart," Ivy
moaned as he pulled her even closer. Her thin summer shift was
nothing compared to the heat radiating from his bare chest.

"You wear my ring. All that a
marriage requires is consummation."

"But Bill and Fleur—"

"A blood traitor and a
half-breed. I cannot help that they had a ridiculous Muggle
ceremony."

Then he was kissing her again and
again and somehow, Ivy found that she was trusting him, allowing him
to carefully undress her, to kiss the hollow of her throat, to join
with her in first discomfort and then pleasure. Afterward, his hand
rested on her abdomen, as if hoping that a child was already growing
there.

"Lady Slytherin," he
murmured.

She fell asleep in his arms, a half
smile on her lips.

Ivy stepped out of their chambers two
weeks later to much cheers and applause, a crown of laurel on her
brow and dressed in robes of white. Her hand was held carefully by
her husband. She barely noticed the flash of cameras, but a day later
a copy of the Prophet was served with their breakfast,
proclaiming their marriage.

Ivy was not quite surprised to find
her green eyes shining with cautious joy.

Later she found the short paragraph,
stating that she was the former wizarding savior, who had bravely
broken an enslaving prophecy that would have both herself and Tom
dead at the hands of one another. The story was a love story. She was
the brave lady who was worthy of the most powerful wizard alive. He
had kept her safe from her abusers and loved her.

Strangely, she reflected, it was all
true.

Still, the war continued, and she
remained within her ivory tower, her knight with her. Within a year
of their marriage, she found herself round with child, and wondered
how her parents would feel. Narcissa taught her how to knit magically
and she oversaw the decoration of the nursery that was next to the
master bedroom. Nothing but the best for her little boy or girl.

It was not until Holly Victoria was
three that Ivy found herself with child again and the war was finally
over completely. She stood proudly on the Dias when her husband was
proclaimed Minister for Magic, although she was quickly beckoned to
take a seat.

In the dead of night she sometimes
wondered what had happened to her once friends, but found that in the
comfort of her family, she was truly happy for the first time in her
life. Tom worked long hours, but still he would wake her when he
returned to their bed, kissing her gently and softly and making slow
love to her in the darkness.

Their second child was a son—Marvolo
James Riddle.

The rest of the fortress was opened up
and soon Ivy was planning balls and hosting tea parties for the wives
of influential men. It was a quiet life, but one that was all hers.

She was safe, protected, and
cherished.

Harry Potter had died so long ago.
Sometimes she barely remembered him at all.